


chain reaction but (you’re holding the fuse)

by notcaycepollard



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen, extremely thinly veiled excuses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 11:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13212573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: “Sex,” Bucky says thickly. Swallows hard. Sam glances at him.“What?”“Hydra was— they knew about MKUltra, right. CIA drug experiments, mind control. They were doing their own experiments. Sex drugs were a logical development, given the Red Room. Ask Romanoff. Shit, I'm pretty sure they tested them out on me a couple of times, my memory from that period is all jacked up but this feels weirdly familiar.”“Well,” Sam says. “That's great. We've been dosed with Soviet sex drugs. Love my life.”





	chain reaction but (you’re holding the fuse)

The problem, Sam thinks, probably kicked off when he and Barnes started working together.

Scratch that. The problem started when Steve goddamn Rogers ran past him on the Mall that morning. The problem started when Captain America showed up on his fucking doorstep and Sam said, like an idiot, _yeah, count me in_. When Sam said _go, I got this,_ and _when do we start_ and _the people who’re shooting at you, usually wind up shooting at me_.

The _problem_ fucking started when Steve’s brainwashed cyborg best friend dragged his gaze slow down the length of Sam’s body, made deliberate eye contact, and twisted his mouth into something a little too sharp and slightly too dangerous to be a smile, his eye teeth showing.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he’d said, low and gravel-rough, and Sam’s whole body had gone hot with adrenaline exactly the way he gets after realizing there’s a volley of fire aimed straight for him.

“Nope,” he’d said flatly, walked out, and he’s kept on saying no ever since then.

Honestly, it hasn’t really helped.

“You good?” Barnes asks, and Sam nods, lifts the shield over one shoulder and into its harness.

“Yeah,” he says. “Peachy,” and Bucky grins a little, flips his knife just for the sheer hell of it before sliding it into the sheath on his thigh.

 _That’s not hot_ , Sam tells himself. _You’re Captain fucking America now, get it together_.

 

The irritating thing of it is, they do work pretty well together, all things considered. With Steve in retirement, and Tony insisting he’s a non-combatant civilian these days, there are fewer superheroes out there than there used to be. Sam still wakes up some days having to count through the decision points that got him here, but honestly, it’s been easier than he might have thought to get used to having Barnes on his six.

“Wilson,” Bucky says over comms. “I got something down here, you wanna give me a hand?”

“I thought SHIELD already did, man, how many hands you need? That’s just greedy.”

Sam’s earpiece crackles with the sound of Bucky snorting in laughter, and he grins to himself, flicks off the comms. Tucks his wing in to whirl down fifteen levels in a tight spiral.

 

“What you got?” he asks when he lands, and Bucky shrugs.

“Honestly? I’m not really sure. Could be nothing, could be some kind of Hydra bullshit, it’s always hard to tell.”

“Looks pretty ominous, I gotta say. Shady containment unit with some kind of keypad control on the outside? They making more of you, or what?”

“Nah, that was all Siberia. I dunno what the fuck this is. Empty, though, it can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, yeah, the weird glass box is _totally fine_ ,” Sam mutters as Bucky fiddles with the keypad. “Go ahead and open it, what could go wrong.” The door hisses open with nothing more than a slight mist, dissipating quickly into the damp air of the abandoned compound.

“Nothing,” Bucky says, in a tone of some disappointment.

“What, you were hoping for Hydra bullshit?”

“I dunno, I could use the excitement. It’s been too long since I punched a Nazi, you know?”

“Hmm,” Sam says, and Bucky grins at him, pokes at the panel of dead electronics inside; it looks like some kind of vitals monitoring system, but honestly, who the fuck knows when it comes to Hydra.

“Might as well get some techs in to analyze this, but there ain’t no rush, is my feeling. Unless you wanna torch the place? I’m pretty sure I’ve got a couple of explosive charges in my kit.”

“Lord have mercy,” Sam mutters under his breath. “No, Barnes, I don’t want to torch the place, god. Let’s get going, I’ll call the techs in.” He touches his earpiece, opens the comms line. “Guys? Compound’s clear, there’s some tech in the basement you should take a look at. Looks like some sort of empty containment unit, maybe, electronics are dead but you might be able to get something off the hard drives. Come on, Barnes, quit looking for something to punch and let’s call it a day, huh?”

“You’re no fun,” Bucky says. “Fine, sure, whatever. Give me a ride up?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Sam says. “You know you’re heavier than Steve with that arm? Take the damn stairs.”

Bucky actually, honest to god, _pouts_ at him. Sam rolls his eyes. Points at the stairwell.

“See you on the jet,” he says, and takes off before Bucky can do something like rip his wings off again.

 

They’re in the back of the quinjet on the way home when Sam looks up, discovers Bucky is looking back at him with an intensity that’s a little much even for Barnes. Sam raises an eyebrow; Bucky doesn’t look away, just slouches back against the cabin wall, kicks his feet out and lets his knees fall open. Worries at his lower lip with one sharp tooth, smirking like he knows he’s being a shit.

 _Fuck you_ , Sam thinks, and leans back in his own seat, tilts his head slowly to the side and gives Bucky a half-lidded smile. Holds his gaze.

Bucky’s mouth falls open, just enough that Sam gets a flash of white teeth, the pink of his tongue. Sam lets his smile spread wider. Leans forward, presses two fingers to Bucky’s chin and pushes his mouth closed again.

“You’re drooling,” he says, pointed, and Bucky actually flushes up over his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. Sam laughs out loud. Lets himself drift his fingers along Bucky’s jaw, the rasp of his stubble rough against Sam’s fingertips; Bucky’s eyes close, and he turns his face slightly into the touch like it feels good.

It _does_ feel good, Sam thinks; it feels too fucking good, and he pulls his hand away, bites the inside of his cheek.

 

By the time they get back to the base, Sam’s beginning to think about the shower he’s gonna take, the cold beer waiting in the fridge. Mission was a bust, nothing wrong with that, happens more often than not, but he had plans for today, damn it. Errands and shit; he was gonna go see his niece, even. Maybe he can still make it if he hurries.

The jet gets in, and Sam shoulders the shield, barely waits for the door to open before he’s heading out.

“That desperate to get out of my company, huh?” Bucky asks, catching up and bumping his shoulder companionably against Sam’s. Sam rolls his eyes, shoves him right back. Shit Bucky’s warm; Sam has to resist leaning in closer, pressing up against him.

“I’ve just got shit to do,” he sighs, and that’s when the klaxon starts blaring.

“Contamination warning,” FRIDAY says. “Contamination warning. Captain Wilson, Sergeant Barnes, confining you to quarantine bay.”

“Quarantine?” Sam says, confused, “FRIDAY, what’s going on?”

“You appear to have been exposed to some kind of chemical gas. I need to run more scans to understand the compound and likely impact on your physiology. Please make yourselves comfortable.”

“I—” Sam starts, but it’s too late; the door is sliding shut, sealing them in. Sam’s seen this half a dozen times from the other side. He really didn’t ever plan on experiencing it from this end.

 

“This fucking sucks,” he says. “I had a cold beer waiting for me, for fuck’s sake. And errands to get done.” Unharnesses the shield and puts it down, unclips his wing pack and shrugs out of it. Glances up to see Bucky watching him, eyes burning and a little too intent. “You okay there, Barnes?”

“Peachy,” Bucky growls, and it’s like the sound of it goes straight to Sam’s dick; he’s suddenly hard, body thrumming with need. He licks his lips; Bucky tracks the movement of his tongue, sucks his own lower lip under his teeth and gives Sam another one of those dangerously sharp smirks.

“Uh,” Sam says. Closes his eyes, trying to focus. “FRIDAY? Any idea yet on what that gas might do?”

“Yes, Captain,” FRIDAY says. “It appears to be a complex formula of psychoactive compounds and other drugs including amyl nitrites, amphetamines, benzodiazepines, cabergoline and methylenedioxymethamphetamine, which are likely in combination to have effects including relaxation, increased blood flow, euphoria, heightened sensations and arousal.”

“Sex,” Bucky says thickly. Swallows hard. Sam glances at him.

“What?”

“Hydra was— they knew about MKUltra, right. CIA drug experiments, mind control. They were doing their own experiments. Sex drugs were a logical development, given the Red Room. Ask Romanoff. Shit, I'm pretty sure they tested them out on me a couple of times, my memory from that period is all jacked up but this feels weirdly familiar.”

“Well,” Sam says. “That's great. We've been dosed with Soviet sex drugs. Love my life.”

“Would you like me to get in touch with Mr Stark or Dr Banner?” FRIDAY asks, as solicitous as an AI can be, and Sam rubs his palm against his jaw, closes his eyes for a minute. He's too warm, t-shirt tight against his skin, and he can smell the heat coming off Bucky in a mix of leather and sweat and woodsy cologne that should not be nearly as good as it is. It's thick in the back of his throat, makes him _want_ —

“Dr Banner,” he says, trying to cut off that train of thought. “If anyone's got any ideas on how to counteract this, it'll be him. Don't tell Tony, please, the last thing I need today is dealing with his face after he hears we're high on Russian sex drugs. And FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Captain Wilson?”

“Could you give us some privacy in here? Dim the lights a little and turn up the air con?”

“Of course,” FRIDAY says, and half a second later the glass walls of the quarantine bay fade opaque, the bright lights dropping lower so they're sitting in a softly glowing room.

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters, “dim the lights, that's a great idea.”

“You wanna ride this thing out in fluorescent lighting, be my fucking guest. It’s bad enough we’re stuck in here without feeling like lab rats under a spotlight.”

“Shit, it’s just like old times for me,” Bucky shrugs. “Next thing you know we’ll all be getting electrodes on weird places.”

“Man, shut the hell up,” Sam mutters without heat, and leans back against the wall, takes a deep breath and immediately regrets it because _damn_ , Barnes ain’t smelling any less incredible. Fucking— goddamn _Russian sex drugs_ , what the fuck. Sam regrets ever deciding to become Captain goddamn America.

 

It definitely explains it, Sam thinks to himself—the thing in the Quinjet, the touching, the thing that might have been more than an edge of flirting—except that it doesn't, because that's basically ninety-eight percent of their interactions these days, something that's not quite bickering or flirting or the edge of playing chicken with each other but all three in some irritatingly confusing combination. Adding sex drugs to that whole mix just feels like a disaster waiting to happen.

Across the room, Bucky unzips his jacket, begins to peel it off, and underneath the leather his t-shirt is damp with sweat, sticking to his skin.

“What,” Sam says. “No, god, keep your clothes on. For _fuck’s sake._ ”

“I'm dying here,” Bucky grumbles. “You know it's way too warm in here, I gotta strip down a little or I'll sweat to death. Just close your fucking eyes.”

“Fine,” Sam snaps, and does, but it's too late; it's like the image of Bucky's chest and shoulders is imprinted behind his eyelids. Sam sighs. Opens his eyes again, watches Bucky crack open a bottle of water and tilt his head back to drink.

He's covered in a sheen of sweat. One drop of water escapes the corner of his mouth, rolls down his chin, his throat, settles on his collarbone.

“ _Christ_ ,” Sam says, unable to do anything except imagine bare skin, sliding his hands up under Bucky’s shirt to pull it off, the way Bucky’s muscles would feel under his fingers. “Fuck, give— just give me a water, would you?”

“Sure,” Bucky says. “Fine.” Grabs another water, tosses it to him, and Sam can’t resist pressing the bottle against his cheek, his forehead and throat. It’s wet with condensation, cool against his overheated skin, and not for the first time he’s grateful that Barnes can’t see his flush.

“God,” he groans after his first sip, “oh yeah,” and gulps another mouthful, thinks about it for all of about two seconds before up-ending the bottle over his face and chest.

“What,” Bucky growls, “ _the fuck_ , Wilson.”

“I was too hot,” Sam shrugs. Pulls his wet t-shirt away from his skin, and Bucky growls again, steps in closer to crowd Sam up against the wall.

“You're _wet_ ,” he murmurs, and then his hands are sliding up under Sam's shirt, his calluses catching rough against slick skin. Oh _shit_ it feels good; his skin is hot and Bucky’s metal hand is shockingly cool, and Sam shivers, sucks in a breath. Feels Bucky’s gaze intent on Sam’s mouth.

Sam licks his lips. Bucky’s breath stutters.

“We should—” Sam starts. Doesn’t know how to finish. _We should get naked_ , his brain supplies, helpfully. _That’d be a great start_.

They shouldn’t get naked. That’s the worst possible choice here, probably. “You should probably stop touching me,” Sam suggests, and Bucky makes a discontented noise in the back of his throat but he pulls away, clenches his hands into fists and takes a deep breath.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “This is—”

“Sit down,” Sam says, sitting at one end of the bunk and pointing to the other. “We’re gonna just sit down and not look at each other, all right?”

Bucky doesn’t sit down on the bunk; he slides down the wall to sit on the floor, head tilted back and eyes closed. _Whatever_ , Sam thinks, _his problem_ , and pulls out his phone, goes over the mission log for lack of anything better to distract him.

 

It lasts all of ten minutes, and then Bucky groans, huffs out a short and frustrated sigh.

“God,” he says. “You feeling it? I bet you’re feeling it, huh.”

“Bucky,” Sam starts, and Bucky shrugs.

“Let's just acknowledge what's going on, right?”

“Shut up,” Sam says half-heartedly.

“Sam, sweetheart, I don't know how you can take it. I'm so fucking hard I could drill through steel with my dick.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Sam says again. Lifts his head to glare at Bucky and immediately regrets it because Jesus _Christ_ , the way Bucky is sitting, it’s fucking intolerable. He’s leaning back against the wall, one leg bent up and the other stretched out, his wrist resting on his bent knee, and then he looks up, sees that Sam is looking. Lets his thighs fall open a little wider, gives Sam a look that’s all heat and challenge.

 _Fuck him!_ his body yells, urgent in a way it hasn’t been up until now. Usually when he’s thinking _fuck him_ about Barnes, it’s in a significantly different context.

Sam swallows. Shifts in his seat, palms over his dick, and it's like fireworks go off behind his eyes; knowing Bucky is in the same state, painfully hard and desperate for it, it makes it worse.

“Okay,” he says, and stands up, grabs the thin mattress off the bunk, puts it down in the middle of the floor. “We sit back to back, that way we’re not looking at each other. Don't make any noise. Just— do what you gotta do.”

“Sure,” Bucky says. “Fine.”

Sam tries extremely hard not to listen to the sound of Bucky undoing his belt, unzipping his pants. Focuses instead on kicking off his shoes, pushing his pants down; he’d feel ridiculous about it if he wasn’t so hard he actually feels kind of light-headed.

Fuck it feels good. _Fuck_ it feels so good; he feels it in waves, hot and overwhelming. His skin feels too tight, prickling with every touch, and he sucks in a ragged breath, squeezes his dick to stop himself coming too fast.

Bucky shifts slightly, the muscles of his back rippling against Sam’s. They’re sticking together, shirts damp with sweat; it makes Sam’s mouth dry with thinking about it.

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky says from behind him, voice rough and husky. Sam elbows him in the ribs.

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” Bucky snaps, “come on, Wilson, fucking _make me_ , you wanna pretend it ain’t getting you hot hearing it. You know it’d be good, sweetheart, you know you could fuck me until we both scream, fuck me until we can’t even breathe, _Christ_ I think about it too much, you know that?”

“Shut,” Sam says, “the _fuck_ up, god, fuck you.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, “yeah, Wilson, fuck me, _god_ ,” and that’s it, it’s too much; Sam rolls sideways, shoves and tackles Barnes simultaneously so that he’s got him, suddenly, pinned to the floor.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, darkly satisfied, “you know damn right, huh,” and all Sam can do is slam his mouth against Bucky’s, sink his teeth into Bucky’s lower lip so hard it might draw blood.

 

If jerking off in the same room was good, having Barnes this close to him is goddamn unbearable. Bucky’s kissing him like he might die, clutching at him, licking his way down Sam’s throat and sucking a livid bruise into the flesh over his collarbone.

“God,” Bucky mutters, low and hot and desperate. Licks his palm, wraps his hand around Sam’s dick and presses his mouth to Sam’s so he can swallow the noise Sam makes. Bucky only gets in two or three strokes before Sam comes, sudden and intense, and Bucky keeps going, wet and messy, until Sam’s shaking and gasping for breath.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sam manages after a minute or two. “Holy shit.” Bucky laughs a little. Kisses him again, needy and biting, and Sam’s kinda surprised to discover that it sparks new heat in him, that his body is already taut with it. “What the fuck—” he starts, and Bucky palms Sam’s dick again, smirks at him.

“Soviet sex drugs,” he says, like that explains everything. “We’re gonna be here for a while, Wilson, you wanna fuck me?”

Shit yes Sam wants to fuck him. _Shit_ yes.

“If you think I’m asking FRIDAY for a supply of lube and condoms,” he says, frowning at Bucky, and Bucky laughs, gestures at his tac gear.

“In there,” he says, “I’d get it myself but I’m kinda covered in your come.”

Sam feels too good to complain about it—it’s technically accurate, after all—and reaches for Bucky’s discarded gear, digs through it until he finds a couple foil sachets of lube and a condom tucked into a side pocket.

“The fuck, you carry these with you.”

“You'd be surprised how often a packet of lube can come in useful in the field,” Bucky says, and Sam rolls his eyes.

“And the condom?”

“Maybe I was just hoping I'd get lucky,” Bucky shrugs, smirking up at him. Sam resists the urge to smack Barnes’ bare thigh, because he is a good person.

“Fuck, I hate you,” he sighs instead, tears open the sachet of lube.

“Yeah, I know, now would you just— oh, _fuck_.”

“Good?” Sam asks casually, twisting his fingers and pushing deeper so they're sunk right up to the knuckle. Bucky groans, bites his lip, arches up into it.

“More,” he gasps, “c’mon, I'm not gonna break, more,” and yeah, Sam's a good person, but what's he gonna do in the face of that, Jesus, so he twists his fingers again, pushes in a third and rubs the pad of his thumb against the stretched rim of Bucky's hole. “God, I can’t wait for you to fuck me,” Bucky says, “shit, sweetheart, I’ve been waiting so long, c’mon, get in me.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, breathless, “yeah, that— yeah,” but before he does, he leans down, takes Bucky’s dick into his mouth, sucks hard and twists his fingers again so they’re pressing right up against Bucky’s prostate. Bucky cries out— _wails_ would be the more accurate verb there, Sam thinks vaguely—and scrabbles at the mattress, his fingers tightening in the bedsheets.

“Oh god, you’re gonna— you’re gonna make me come, Sam, I swear to fuck, that—” and Sam doesn’t quit, just swallows him down deeper so his throat is working around the head of Bucky’s cock. It makes Bucky scream; it’s the best sound Sam might have ever heard. And then he’s coming in hot pulses, coming hard enough that Sam can’t swallow it all, feels it drip from the corner of his mouth down his chin.

“Now,” he says, pulling off Bucky’s dick and rolling on the condom, ignoring the way Bucky groans as he slides his fingers out, “I’m gonna fuck you,” and Bucky’s eyes actually roll back in his head as Sam pushes all the way in.

 

It must be painfully oversensitive, but Bucky takes it and takes it, gasping and begging like he needs Sam’s dick so deep he can taste it. He’s hard again—fucking Soviet sex drugs—dick wet and dripping at the tip, leaving slick smears on his belly.

“Harder,” he demands, “come on, _harder_ , make me feel it,” and Sam yanks Bucky’s legs up so his ankles are on Sam’s shoulders, grabs his hips and slams into him hard enough he sees stars.

“Like that?” he asks, and Bucky moans.

“Yeah,” he says, voice raw, “yeah, sweetheart, like that,” and Sam gets into a rhythm, fucking him hard and fast until they’re both dripping with sweat, panting for breath.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sam gets out. Pauses to catch his breath, shoves Bucky’s shirt up so he can run his fingers over Bucky’s bare chest, pinch his nipples and watch him squirm. “God _damn_ , you’re pretty, you know that?”

“You ain’t bad yourself,” Bucky tells him, “Christ, Sam, you’re gorgeous, I need—” He arches up again, runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Your _mouth_ ,” Sam groans, and slaps Bucky lightly across the mouth just to watch the way his eyes go wide.

“Do that again,” he demands, “do that again and fuck me while you’re doing it,” and Sam’s far gone enough to do it just like that, to fuck into Bucky and slap him until his mouth is bitten-pink and his face is slack with lust.

“God,” Bucky says, “I’m gonna— fuck, I’m gonna—” and grabs at Sam, pulls him in harder. Sam wraps his hand around Bucky’s dick, jerks him fast and rough, and that’s it, that’s fucking it: Bucky is coming so hard he shakes, clenching up around Sam, trembling with it. Sam can’t hold back. Bites his lip, comes again even harder than the last time; it’s so much he hurts, Jesus _Christ._

 

They sort of collapse down onto each other after, breathing hard and disgustingly sweaty and sticky with come. Bucky’s got Sam’s head kind of pillowed against his shoulder, is stroking his fingers up and down Sam’s back; it feels soft, tender, sweetly good, not that Sam would never admit it.

“Apologies for interrupting,” FRIDAY says. Both Bucky and Sam freeze.

“Uh,” Sam says. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“I have an update,” FRIDAY says, and Sam would swear to god she sounds embarrassed, how the _fuck_ can an AI be embarrassed, good god. “Dr Banner and I agree you’re not contagious. I’m lifting the quarantine.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. Clears his throat, reaches for his pants. “That, uh, that’s great. Just, um. Give us a minute, would you?”

“Gonna need more than a minute to clean this up,” Bucky mutters quietly, and Sam swats at him, rolls over.

“Certainly. The hallway to your quarters are currently free,” FRIDAY tells them, and Sam flushes hot, because yeah, she fucking knows what’s gone down in here, alright.

“There’s no, uh… you don’t keep video footage of the quarantine bay, right?”

“Only in active observation mode,” FRIDAY says. “Your request for privacy overrode. Take the laundry with you, please.”

Sam’s not sure how he feels about having their omniscient base AI get snarky about his life choices, but he balls up the sheets, thrusts them at Bucky. Slings his shield and wing pack over one shoulder.

“I’m,” he says. “Gonna go shower. See you in the lab in half an hour to hear what Bruce has got to say?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Sure.” Gets to his feet and stretches, languid and still mostly naked; Sam’s gotta work to drag his gaze away from Bucky’s shoulders, the long lines of his torso and thighs.

“Get dressed,” he says, before they can go down that road again. _Quarters. Shower. Yeah._

In the shower, he gets distracted by the thought of Bucky wet and naked against him, the two of them kissing tender and easy up against the wall. Bucky’s hand wrapped around both their dicks, maybe, jacking them off slow like they’ve got time on their hands.

 _Fuck_ , Sam thinks, knowing this whole thing has escalated like whoa.

 

In the lab, Bruce doesn’t seem overly concerned; it’s also real clear that FRIDAY’s been circumspect enough about what’s gone on in the quarantine bay, which Sam can only be thankful for.

“Seems like you just got a minor dose,” Bruce says. “The residue of whatever was left in the unit, I’d estimate it to be about a quarter of the test dose, maybe? Probably a bit of elevated heart rate, arousal, euphoria, it should have worn off in about twenty minutes. No lasting effects, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, making meaningful eye contact with Barnes and fucking _daring_ him to argue. “Sounds about right, yeah.”

“Anyway,” Bruce says, clearing his throat. Waves his hand vaguely and disappears back off to his bench in the lab. Sam shoves his hands in his pockets. Very deliberately doesn’t look at Bucky.

“I’ll, uh. Now that that’s cleared up, I’ve got errands to get done with the rest of my day. Barnes. This was fun, let’s not do it again, huh?”

He gets about three steps away when Bucky catches up to him, grabs hold of his wrist.

“Sam,” he says, low and hot, and Sam bites his lip.

“Bucky?”

“Let’s,” Bucky says. “Let’s do it again, Sam, come on.”

“You heard Bruce,” Sam tells him, “it wasn’t even a real dose.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, “so if it _wasn’t_ just the Soviet sex drugs, I can only assume you’ve been wanting to fuck me for a while, huh?”

“...Fuck,” Sam mutters, knowing he’s been caught right out. Leans back against the wall, and Bucky just takes that as opportunity to step in closer, one hand on Sam’s hip.

“Come on,” he whispers, mouth close enough to Sam’s ear that his breath gusts hot over Sam’s neck. “You want me to get on my knees for you, Wilson? Let you fuck my pretty mouth? Yeah, I know you want to, sweetheart.”

“... Jesus _Christ_ ,” Sam manages; he’s not sure how his knees don’t buckle. “How do you— you’ve fucking goddamn weaponized dirty talk, you know that?”

“Been trying,” Bucky shrugs, languorous. “You’re a hard guy to seduce, you know that?”

“Oh, you’ve been trying to seduce me, is that it?”

“Sweetheart, haven’t you noticed?” Bucky asks, earnest suddenly, and Sam feels his last objections dissolve.

Fuck it. Why not. He’s been saying no long enough, might as well give in to what he wants and start saying yes.

“If you think we’re fucking again today,” he says, turning his head so he’s murmuring it against Bucky’s lips, “you’ve got way too high an opinion of my stamina, man, my plan was to go take a nap for about the next five hours.”

Bucky laughs, very soft. “You got space in your bed for me to take that nap with you, then?”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “Yeah, I think we can work something out, yeah.”

Turns out Sam was wrong: after three hours of napping, he absolutely has enough stamina to fuck again, especially when Bucky decides to spread Sam’s thighs wide and rim him for a good forty minutes until he’s boneless and gasping, desperate for it.

“God bless Soviet sex drugs, huh,” Bucky murmurs, resting his chin on Sam’s chest after, and Sam’s too worn out to shove him. Just laughs, tangles his fingers up in Bucky’s hair and tugs a little.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, god bless Soviet sex drugs, fuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> GOD BLESS SOVIET SEX DRUGS
> 
> happy new year, come join me [on tumblr](http://notcaycepollard.tumblr.com/)


End file.
